Steal My Heart, Break My Pride
by meganface
Summary: Ian/Mickey. There are a lot of things Mickey will never say, questions he'll never ask.


**I don't even know when this would take place, but it just randomly popped up in my head so yeah. And the title is taken from a Mumford and Sons song.**

Mickey doesn't say a word as Ian gently dabs at his bleeding nose; he doesn't say a word when Ian puts a hand on his cheek and rests his forehead on his. Mickey doesn't say anything but he wants to. There are so many questions, too many even, that he wants to ask, that he needs to ask, before they fill him up and leave him struggling to breathe.

They're home alone and Mickey is sat on the couch with Ian on the floor between his legs. Ian and that fucking face Mickey swears he hates. Only he doesn't and he knows that, just like he knows that he'll never hate it.

Ian stands up, dropping the bloody cloth onto the table behind, then straddles him, wrapping his arms loosely around Mickey's neck. "Please stop fighting," he whispers with a smile on his face, and Mickey thinks it's because Ian knows he'll never stop fighting, but he can't be sure.

As he sits upright, Mickey places his hands on Ian's hips, not quite holding but doing more than simply touching. He doesn't think he's supposed to find it sweet that Ian gives a shit, that he worries, but he does. Mickey thinks it's maybe the sweetest thing. He hates his mind sometimes. "What about with you?" he asks, nosing Ian's neck, because he and Ian fight a lot. It's never proper fighting, their hits aren't thrown to hurt, it's more like messing about and sometimes it's even their own form of foreplay. Either way, Mickey knows he loves it more than he should and it has nothing to do with the fact that Milkovichs are born fighters. Nothing.

One of Ian's hands is in Mickey's hair and the other rests on his neck. "That's different," he says, "I'd never hurt you." And though it shouldn't, those four words make Mickey crumble, they make him forget and remember all at the same time.

Mickey doesn't do this, he doesn't do caring, he doesn't say things that make people feel like he's feeling right now. "That fucking punch to the gut last week sure fucking hurt," he mumbles, looking up at Ian who is looking down at him and a smile spreads across both of their faces.

"That's different," Ian says and Mickeys knows it is so he laughs a little at how pointless that comment was. He thinks a lot of things Ian says are pointless but he doesn't think he'd listen so well if they weren't.

The fingers in Mickey's hair tighten their grip and Ian's eyes keep looking between his eyes and slightly parted lips. "Christ, just fuckin' do it," he mutters harshly, though for no reason other than that's just the way he speaks sometimes.

Ian gives him a questioning look but Mickey's already seen _that_ face and Mickey knows that face too well - the one Ian pulls when he wants to kiss him - because sometimes it's the last thing he sees at night before he goes to sleep; it's the last thing he sees because when Ian kisses him goodnight Mickey doesn't open his eyes until morning so he can sleep with the memory of _that_ face.

Mickey leans back and pulls Ian with him and their mouths meet halfway and for a brief moment they don't move at all. Then Ian starts to open his mouth and Mickey does the same and they don't kiss for long before Ian whispers something into Mickey's mouth and he swallows like by doing so, he can keep those words all to himself so nobody else can get near them and taint them.

"I love you," Ian whispers.

The weight of those words are too heavy for Mickey and he thinks that it's probably a pity that he's never heard them in real life before, only in films. His heart is beating to a wild rhythm and somewhere deep inside he envies Ian for being able to say it. He's close to saying it back, so fucking close that for a moment he convinces himself that the next words to come out of his mouth will be 'I love you, too'. They aren't. "Why?" he asks and somehow that single syllable, that one word seems heavier than all three of Ian's. Mickey doesn't often ask why, he rarely gives a shit about the reasoning behind things, but he needs to know why this person on his lap is the first person to tell him that he's loved.

Whilst taking Mickey's face in his hands, even though Mickey knows Ian knows he hates it, Ian smiles and Mickey wants to hit him because fuck, he looks so perfect. "Because you couldn't be someone else even if you tried," Ian says, looking Mickey deep in the eyes.

Mickey frowns a little in confusion because, though he doesn't know what he had expected Ian to say, he knows he wasn't expecting that. Mickey wonders if that's even a reason to love someone; he wonders if that's why he thinks he loves Ian because he's never given it much thought; he's never asked himself why he loves Ian. Mostly he tries to forget that he does.

Ian gets up off of him and begins walking to the bedroom before turning around and raising his eyebrows at Mickey who is still sitting in the exact same position.

They don't fuck as hard and fast as usual, but it certainly isn't tender and Mickey tells himself it's because he already has bruises forming on the skin over his ribs and going at it like crazy would hurt and not in the way he likes it. He tells himself that that's all it means, nothing else.

Ian is moaning in his ear. "Mickey... fuck, Mickey." And he loves the way his name sounds when it's moaned, loves it more when it's screamed.

Mickey is so far gone, so wrapped up in how good Ian feels thrusting in and out of him and the way he sucks and bites his neck that for a moment, he loses himself; the part of his mind that hates feelings and urges him to hate Ian shuts down and he's getting louder, he's giving in and he doesn't have the ability to care anymore.

Before he realises that Ian has propped himself up onto his forearms, Mickey is speaking. "Ian, I... I...-"

"Mickey," Ian says, his voice low and a little croaky, and Mickey looks up at him and realises that this is the first time he and Ian have had eye contact during sex and he fucking hates it but does nothing to stop it. "I know," he whispers.

And it's not long before they're crying out and Ian's panting hard and fast again Mickey's neck and Mickey's fingers are digging into Ian's back.

Ian slightly shifts to the side so that he has one leg between Mickey's and his face resting on his chest, fingers gently making patterns over his bruised ribs. Mickey has an arm around Ian and his chin atop his head, breathing in his scent that no words could describe.

"Please stop fighting," Ian whispers. Mickey says nothing back but he knows he will. He knows, as much as he doesn't want to, that he'd stop doing anything if Ian asked him to because he can't stand the way Ian looks at him sometimes, but he knows he never wants him to stop.


End file.
